


And a meeting how sweet to the lover

by afterandalasia



Category: Aladdin (1992), Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Ali Shar and Zumurrud Elements, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Community: disney_kink, Crossover Pairings, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Folklorist Belle, Literary References & Allusions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Sultan Jasmine (Disney), Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: Sultan Jasmine is delighted to meet the travelling folklorist, Belle Durand, whose collections of stories from across Europe have proved to be both fascinating and illuminating. When she gets the chance, though, she is delighted to find that not only is Belle everything that had been rumoured, she is more, and it is not long before they find themselves caught up in the stories which they share.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Very belatedly, but for the [prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/11667.html?thread=6812051#t6812051) from Femslash February 2015. AU where Maurice got to the fair, and his invention was a success, giving them the financial independence so that Belle could go on all of the adventures she had always wanted.
> 
> What Belle is doing is someone inspired by the Grimms or Andrew Lang, and especially JF Campbell who collected the stories of the Highlands. I've moved this to the 1840s, for the historical/geographical background, but honestly it's a thin veneer of plot for the porn! This is about 40 years before Burton bought the first major translation of _1001 Nights_ to Europe.
> 
> For Ali Shar and Zumurrud, I have used [this translation](http://www.wollamshram.ca/1001/Vol_4/tale41.htm), which is that 1882-4 Burton translation. Title is also taken from that version.
> 
> I have a similar story for [Belle and Merida](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3964849), and I've tried to leave it ambiguous enough that the two could exist in the same universe. (That one has Tam Lin elements; this one as Ali Shar and Zumurrud!) This is actually the prompt that originally fed into Belle's backstory in that fic.

“I must say, Madamoiselle Durand, your Arabic is very good.”

The woman smiled. Jasmine had heard about her from Queen Marisol of Eldora, first, in one of the extensive letters which they exchanged since learning of each other’s existence. But that had been over three years ago, and Jasmine remained as intrigued by Belle Durand as when she had first heard about he.

“I am flattered, Your Majesty. It was not this good when I first began using it, I assure you.”

“How long have you been speaking it?” said Jasmine. She sipped at her sorbet, having long since waved away her servants that she might speak to this strange northerner in peace. “You do not have much of an accent any more.”

“I practiced in my youth, for some years, but that was largely learning to read and to write it,” Belle replied. “I was lucky enough while in Greece to meet a native speaker, and spoke with them for perhaps another year, before travelling to Eldora, where I had heard there was linguistic diversity. That was just over three years ago now.”

“Greece?” Jasmine raised an eyebrow. She had heard that the travelling woman with the thirst for stories knew several languages, but Marisol had not mentioned Greek. “My word. It seems that you have travelled the world.”

Belle laughed. “Not yet. There’s too much to see along the way. Eldora was my first land outside Europe, although I would love to travel east from here.” She picked at the figs and oranges set out before them. “A pity the Silk Road is no longer really used. It would have been amazing to see the land, instead of the sea.”

“We still have land trade to the East,” said Jasmine. “Though not as far as China, I must admit. I could introduce you to the traders, if you wish.”

Belle’s eyes went wide. She was a few years older than Jasmine, or so the Sultan had heard, but the news of a possibility of going east made her face light up and made her smile like a girl again. “You would do that?”

“Of course!” Jasmine could not help laughing. “What, would I tell you of such a thing and then deny it to you?”

Belle laughed as well, but wagged a finger. “You would be amazed at what things I have had happen, this last decade.”

“Sounds like you should make a book of your own adventures, never mind the stories of the lands you visit.”

“Perhaps one day,” said Belle, with a shrug. “But there are still plenty of stories already in existence.”

“If you’re looking for every story in the world, you could be searching for some time.”

“I can think of worse things.”

Perhaps more impressive, to Jasmine, was that Belle did not only rewrite her stories into one language. Though she kept a copy of them in the original tongue, she also translated them into three languages to send back to Europe, and apparently added to her languages with each land to which she travelled.

“But,” Belle added, “I do not intend to move on just yet. I have heard that you have a quite remarkable set of stories here.”

“My ancestors?” said Jasmine. She barely needed Belle to give her a sheepish smile. “Yes, I have all of the stories of Jasmine and Aladdin. I can’t help thinking that my father was thinking of our first female Sultan when he named me.”

“I must admit, I was hoping to be able to ask of them when I heard that you had invited me to the Palace,” Belle said.

Jasmine allowed herself to smile more coyly. “We have many texts, Madamoiselle Durand. And yes, the tales of my ancestors are certainly among them.”

 

 

 

 

 

The library enchanted her; that much was clear from the moment that Jasmine led her through the door. Belle stopped and stared, raw amazement turning to subtle awe in her eyes, and Jasmine stood back to allow her to walk out into the centre of the room and look all around them, at the shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls that lined the walls of the room.

“These are all…” Belle trailed off.

Jasmine was not entirely sure what the end to that sentence was to be, but she could make a shrewd guess. “At your disposal. Some of them are older and more fragile, but I will be happy to have my librarian assist you. She knows these shelves very well.”

“This is incredible,” said Belle, voice still hushed, as if she was looking at the inside of a mosque.

“The desert air is good for them,” Jasmine said. “A number date back to the Islamic Empire, and some claim to be even older. Among them,” she paused for emphasis, just long enough that Belle actually tore her eyes away from the book to look round, “are books which claim to be the journals of my ancestor the first female Sultan Jasmine.”

Belle put a hand to her mouth, apparently struck speechless. The reign of the first female Sultan had been over a thousand years ago, and if the books were not quite that old then they were most likely a copy made within the first couple of centuries. Almost anywhere else in the world, the books would not have survived. But Agrabah’s dry climate did have at least some benefits.

In a rush, Belle strode back across the room. She cupped Jasmine’s cheeks and kissed her on the lips, firm and fierce, and it sent a jolt straight down Jasmine’s spine. Jasmine did not even have the time to close her eyes, though, before Belle drew back again, looking apologetic.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty. I should not have done that.”

“I cannot say I have ever before been kissed because of Agrabah’s library,” said Jasmine, the words coming almost automatically as her brain still struggled to keep up. But perhaps it would have been a good thing were they not so automatic, considering how her mouth decided to continue. “But neither can I say that I object to it.”

Belle blushed; it was oddly sweet on her.

“Now,” continued Jasmine, brain finally catching up with her, “shall I call for some refreshment? Obviously I would limit what food and drink passes into the library, but I trust you to have care. We can see what we can turn up, after all.”

 

 

 

 

 

Jasmine tarried as long as she could with Belle before her official duties called her away; before leaving, she introduced the northerner to her librarian, Dhandi, and as she left the two were talking excitedly about the materials the library had gathered over the years. Agrabah had never been part of the Ottoman Empire, and had stood for that thousand years and more; it was one of the oldest countries in the world. Jasmine had always been proud of their collection of books, of _knowledge_ , and for many years had encouraged copies to be made of the books that they might be more disseminated.

“How did you find the library?” she asked Belle that evening, as they relaxed in the guest quarters which Jasmine had made available to her visitor.

Even after a day, Belle took a deep, enchanted breath before she could even manage a reply, her eyes shining. “It is _amazing_ ,” she said. “Dhandi spent most of the day just showing me around! She tells me that she can read the Farsi, the books from the east–”

“Ah, I am sorry, I should have warned you that not all were in Arabic.”

“No, it is fantastic!” said Belle. “From what Dhandi was telling me, there is a strong storytelling tradition there as well; I may spend time there before continuing to China, I am not sure. Afghanistan is still experiencing turbulence, I know that,” she said with a wave of her hand, and Jasmine did not bother hiding how impressed she was that a foreigner was so aware of the political machinations of lands with whom Agrabah barely interacted these days; “and Iran is facing difficulties with Russia, but the whole area seems so full of stories, of history.

“Oh,” she continued, expression lighting up again as she drew back to Jasmine, “and Dhandi mentioned as well that she has a friend who can read Hindustani.”

“You should be careful not to get ahead of yourself,” said Jasmine with a smile, once she was sure that she could get in her words.

Belle blushed again, and laughed sheepishly. “My apologies. There is simply so much more to hear, to read. All of Europe is entranced with the Thousand Nights and a Night, but I know that there are more. Starting, I hope, with your Ala-ad Din and Sultan Jasmine.”

Waving a hand, Jasmine laughed. “Your enthusiasm could never offend me, Madamoiselle.”

“I believe ‘Belle’ would suffice.”

“Only if you would call me Jasmine,” Jasmine replied, with a more flirtatious look over her cup at Belle. She was still more than a little flattered when Belle returned the look with interest, tucking a lock of hair back behind her face. Though Marisol had not been so clear on that matter in her words, there had been enough for Jasmine to read between the lines. “After all, you share my home now.”

“I am flattered to be your guest,” said Belle.

Jasmine got to her feet, knowing that even that movement was sinuous, and was aware of Belle’s eyes upon her as she moved to the same broad, soft couch. It was plush red velvet, embroidered in gold and silver; something of a cliché, Jasmine knew, but she thought that Belle might appreciate it. Her own chambers were rather sparser in design, more focused on utility.

“I am honoured to have you as my guest,” Jasmine replied, and allowed the tone of her voice to soften and deepen. Her gaze lingered on Belle’s lips for a moment, just long enough that she was sure that the woman saw it, before looking up again. “Even if it is my stories that have called you.”

“Not _just_ your stories,” said Belle.

Whole conversations streamed between them, without the need for words. Smiling invitingly, Jasmine leant against the back of the chair, softening her pose and letting her shoulders relax to best show off the curve of her breasts. She shifted her legs as she crossed her ankles, letting thigh linger on thigh, and saw Belle swallow hungrily as she turned, as well, so that they were better facing each other.

“It is quite funny, though,” said Belle, “seeing the rush of men from… my part of the world,” she waved a hand vaguely, “desperate to hear the stories of your realm. Although,” she lowered her voice mock-conspiratorially, “with emphasis on the _men_ , somehow the emphasis becomes on making the stories of your land as thoroughly salacious as possible.”

Jasmine laughed.

“To hear some of them talk, this is some exotic wonderland of harems and gold…” Belle gestured in the air. “Gold everything. Women dressed in nothing but gold and rubies. And dear lord, they have an obsession with breasts.”

“Well, _that_ might be something of men the world over,” said Jasmine. “I have met more than a few princes who claimed to court me for my hand, but seemed to have their eyes bound for elsewhere altogether. Obsessed with sex, all of them.”

“To be fair,” Belle said, with a tilt of her cup, “many people of all genders are obsessed with sex from time to time. It is in many a story, from all over the world.”

“Indeed?”

“Oh, yes.” She drained her cup, set it down, and moved both of her hands as she spoke. “One of the famous ones from France, _Le Petit Chaperon Rouge_ , it would be… ‘The Little Red Hood’ in Arabic, I think. Perrault’s version is the well-known one, but, in earlier ones…” her fingers brushed against her own shoulder, “the girl would often take off her clothes, even get into bed with the wolf.”

“All over the world,” said Jasmine, smirking.

“Oh, yes. Tam Lin, from Britain. A girl loses her virginity in return for a rose. Rapunzel, from Germany; she ends up pregnant, and it’s all about stifled desire. Sole, Luna e Talia, as written by Basile at least, she is woken by the children she conceives of rape.”

“Well, there are a few stories such as that in every land, I suppose.”

“Indeed. In Greece, there is Rhodopis – it is similar to the Tale of the Anklet, I suppose – and instead of just being any girl, she is a courtesan. It is her choice, and does not stop her from marrying her Pharoah.”

“Well, I must admit that if you do start seeking out the more sexual of the tales, you might find them a little more… plain than some of your European ones,” said Jasmine. Belle looked far from shocked; her smile still lingered, and her eyes smouldered. “I’ve read the French translation of some of your texts. But here, if you were to find…” she cast about, “Ali Shar and Zumurrud, for example.”

“Should I fetch my paper, to take notes?” Belle said.

She sounded like she was teasing, and it wound in Jasmine’s chest, made her feel bold. Or perhaps that was the boldness in Belle bringing out her own nerve. “Oh, no, there are copies in our library. But it a simple enough tale, at first, of a poor young man who falls in love with a woman, only for her to be kidnapped by a wicked Christian.”

Belle laughed. “It is so fascinating. I mean no offence to say it, but in some parts of Europe it is Muslims or Jews who are the wicked ones.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” said Jasmine, not the least bit offended. It was intriguing to see Belle looking at the patterns so academically, though. She wondered what patterns Belle saw beneath the world. “But anyway, she is kidnapped, and Ali Shar – well, he pines for a while, and eventually goes in search of her. Honestly, I prefer Zumurrud’s part in the story.” Belle laughed again, and nudged Jasmine’s foot with her own. “She escapes from her kidnappers, disguises herself as a man, and not only enters another city-kingdom but proves to be so wise that she rises to be sultan of it.”

“If this is not among the tales in your library,” said Belle, with a mock-annoyed wag of her finger, “I will demand a monopoly of your time until you tell it to me in full. But I do not see how it is that sexual, unless there are salacious descriptions of how exactly he loved her.”

She put a note into the word _loved_ that made it seem like something more, an impression not at all hurt by the way that Belle’s brown eyes were glowing. Jasmine flushed. “Well, no,” she said. If she had already started the tale, then she supposed she ought to finish it. “But Ali Shar ends up in her kingdom, only he does not recognise her as the sultan.”

“And he loved her?” teased Belle.

Jasmine gave her an outright flirtatious look. “Well, he does not recognise her _face_ at least.” It earned her a bright laugh, and she leant forward a little, closing the distance between them. “So, she decides to tease him, and to see what it will take for him to recognise her. She invites him into her palace,” she waved around them, as if her halls might do as an echo of Zumurrud’s despite the millennium between them, “into her chambers, all set around with lamps and draped in silk, and she gives him food and drink, because after all he must be weary. And then,” Jasmine slipped her feet from her shoes, and placed them into Belle’s lap, “she pressed her feet upon him, and ordered him to massage them.”

Belle’s lap was warm, her clothes softened with age and wear but still sturdy, and Jasmine very deliberately ran her toes across the curve of Belle’s thigh. Belle looked down, glanced up from beneath long dark lashes, then pushed back her sleeves from her wrists and set to massaging Jasmine’s ankles.

Jasmine drew in a breath, sharply. Belle’s hands were not rough, that was not the word, but they were not pampered-soft and they moved with certainty against her skin. Slipping over warm flesh, squeezing at the soft lowest part of her calf, running along to trace fingers over her short polished nails. As she worked, Belle kept her eyes on Jasmine’s feet, and Jasmine watched her with equal intensity as she wondered what else those hands might be capable of.

The silence stretched out, and Jasmine realised that she was breathing more heavily. Belle’s hands were slightly damp, just enough to be slick, and they ran along the back of Jasmine’s calf almost to the knee. Belle looked up again, lips parted and shining.

“So?” Belle said. “I presume that he did as his sultan asked?”

“Yes,” said Jasmine, breathlessly. She slid across on the couch, letting her legs lie over Jasmine’s lap rather than into it. “Ali Shar did as Zumurrud asked. So she ordered him to massage higher…”

Belle’s right hand slid up to just behind her knee, almost cradling, as the left gently squeezed and massaged above. Jasmine swallowed.

“And he said, O my lord, I will massage to the knee but no higher. And Zumurrud replied to him that she was the sultan, was she not, and that his hands should move higher still.”

“O my lord,” said Belle, perfectly picking up the cadence of the words, “I shall obey thee.”

Jasmine could see Belle breathing more quickly, as well, as her hands moved up to massaging Jasmine’s thighs. Her dress was laced down the front, and Jasmine’s daring fingers caught hold of the lacing to loosen it, revealing the swell of her breasts, pale against Jasmine’s hands, and how they swayed with her breathing.

Belle’s hands ran along Jasmine’s thighs, just firm enough to ache in Jasmine’s sex but still teasing-light, and Jasmine felt her legs part without even conscious thought.

“And oh, my lord,” said Belle, “wouldst thou have me massage thy skin without these trappings upon it?” she ran her hand down the length of Jasmine’s inner thigh, starting so high that Jasmine’s toes curled.

But Jasmine tilted her chin haughtily. “No,” she said, “I have new orders for thee, Ali Shar. Doff thy garments, and lie down upon they face.”

Belle sat up straighter, with a theatrical gasp. “My lord!” She said. “Never have we met before! I may massage they feet, but I will not disrobe for thee.”

Jasmine struggled to suppress her smile beneath her cool sultan’s stare, as she withdrew her legs from Belle’s touch and lounged upon the couch. It was not all that comfortable for the small of her back, but she was sure that it would pass for indolent, and tucked one arm behind her head. “Wouldst thou disobey me, Ali Shar? It shall be an ill-omened night for thee.”

Slowly, Belle rose to her feet. Eyes never leaving Jasmine’s, she unlaced the front of her dress, and let it slip down, revealing her undergarments beneath. They were not revealing, but somehow it was still enough for Jasmine to feel the smouldering heat in her chest growing, the way that the thinner linen skimmed Belle’s hips, made ghosts of her nipples and turned the hair at the apex of her thighs to a vague shadow. Reaching up, Belle removed the pins from her hair, letting it fall in mid-brown curls to her shoulders, then unlaced her corset and let it drop to the floor. Jasmine pursed her lips but still could not hide her smile, and could barely prevent herself from squeezing her thighs together against the desire pulsing within her.

Belle slipped her undergarment – whatever did they call it? A chemise? – from her shoulders, and down her arms. It was a sort of unveiling, Jasmine supposed, starting with the smooth lush skin of her shoulders that Jasmine ached to sink her teeth into, then her slight breasts with tight pink nipples, the smooth line of her stomach with a suggestion of the muscles beneath. Narrow hips, with muscles more pronounced from riding, brown curls at the peak of lean thighs, and the chemise pooled about her feet. A moment to slip off each stocking, and Belle stood before her quite naked, unabashed and quite as bold as she had ever been clothed.

“I do as thou bidst me, my lord,” said Belle.

It would be great irony, Jasmine supposed, given the start of their conversation, were she to fix her eyes upon Belle’s breasts. Instead she looked into her eyes, only to feel a rush of desire at the unfettered sensuality there, and pushed to her feet in turn.

“The first only of my orders,” she said. “I ordered thee to doff they clothes,” she pointed to the couch, “and lie down upon they face.”

As Belle did so, Jasmine stripped off her own clothing, in far quicker and more curt movements. She threw aside a couple of the cushions to make more room for them, then without warning straddled Belle’s upper thighs. Belle gasped beneath her, and Jasmine ran her hands down Belle’s back.

“Is this as thou wished, my lord?” said Belle. Her voice was breathy, and Jasmine could feel the tensions in her thighs and hips.

“Hmm,” Jasmine replied. “I think so.”

She rocked against Belle’s hips, the base of the curve of her ass, and massaged her way down the expanse of skin. Belle pushed up onto her elbows, and Jasmine leant down, pushing her breasts against Belle’s back. Her body ached, the touch not quite enough for the heat between her thighs, legs still tingling from the feeling of Belle’s hands upon them.

“So Ali Shar lay down upon the sultan’s bed,” she said, soft against Belle’s ear. She reached around with one hand to find Belle’s breast, and drew a soft grunt from her. Teasing at the curve of Belle’s ear with her lips, she let her hand roam over the breast, lifting and softly rolling, until her fingers seemed to come naturally to her nipple and gently pinch it. Belle rocked against the couch, in time with Jasmine’s hips, panting softly. “With his trousers doffed and his beautiful buttocks,” something about the word seemed absurd, and they both suppressed laughter, Belle with an unladylike snort. “Upon display. And Zumurrud doffed her own trousers, but kept on her shirt, that she might hide her breasts, and she lay upon him with her hips to his.”

She squeezed Belle’s hips with her thighs, and was rewarded with a soft sound deep in her throat. Still with one hand toying at Belle’s breasts, Jasmine rocked onto her hands and knees, still low enough that she could almost thrust against Belle’s hips. Belle gasped, shuddered, and her nipple grew harder and her skin more warm beneath Jasmine’s touch.

“And what said Ali Shar?” said Belle breathlessly. “Did he not notice what the sultan lacked?”

Jasmine chuckled, stilling her hips, and trailed her tongue across Belle’s exposed shoulders. When she sat up, Belle made a quiet, disappointed sound, and with one gentle push on Belle’s hips she moved to lounge beside her instead. Lying on her side, Jasmine arranged herself more comfortably, and Belle turned her head to give a playful, lustful look.

“Well, he did but think that the sultan felt fairer than any woman, but yes, he was surprised,” said Jasmine. “And in the dark of the bed, Zumurrud said why, clearly it is no fault of mine that my prick stands not–”

Perhaps it was the word, or perhaps it was the way that Jasmine waved to her own sex and the imaginary prick there, but Belle laughed again. She pushed further up onto her elbows, breasts brushing against the couch and peeking forward, and Jasmine considered for a moment throwing her story aside to take hold of those breasts properly. But she suspected that Belle would rather the story as well.

“Hush, visitor to my land,” she said, sternly, and Belle bit her lip to be silent but kept the mirth in her eyes. “Clearly it is no fault of mine that my prick stands not. It must be yours! Now come, she said, and reached in the dark to take Ali Shar’s hand;” Jasmine took hold of Belle’s own right hand, “rub it until it stands.”

She guided Belle’s hand between her legs, and Belle made a faint yearning sound in the depths of her throat. Since almost the moment they had begun to tease each other, Jasmine had been aware of the yearning between her thighs, the slick wetness, but she could not help a moan as Belle’s fingers slid against her skin, cool against her. Belle’s fingers ran along the length of her slit, teasing soft, but her eyes were firm and unwavering.

Belle’s hand took over, and Jasmine released it to touch Belle’s hip. Searching with her fingers, Belle dipped to trace her hand along Jasmine’s entrance, then slipped up to brush over her clit. Jasmine gasped; it was a bolt of sensation through the yearning, a clench that ran through every muscle.

“But oh, my lord,” said Belle, “never have I felt such a prick as this!”

Jasmine started laughing at the earnestness.

“Not that I am complaining,” Belle added, returning to her normal tone and rubbing circles just around Jasmine’s clit, teasing-close and never quite touching. “But I am sure that it was not what Ali Shar expected.”

“Again, that is, ah,” Jasmine caught her breath as Belle flicked her thumb, just once, over her clit. “That is quite true. And Ali Shar did as he was told only to find, verily, the sultan has between his thighs a cunny! Never before have I heard of a kingdom whose sultan was as this! And his own prick grew long with the touch of it. And then, with his hand between her very thighs,” Jasmine rolled her hips against Belle’s hand, “Zumurrud took pity and laughed, and said, why! Do you not recognise me! It is your lover Zumurrud!”

“So you’re saying that he could not recognise her face, but he could recognise her cunny,” said Belle.

“It appears so.”

Belle still managed a devilish look. “Why, what a great length of time he must have spent there!”

Jasmine laughed, so hard that it was impossible even to concentrate on the heat between her thighs. She fell back upon the couch, one hand across her stomach as the laughter rolled through her, and was aware of Belle propping herself onto one elbow at her side.

As the laughter receded, Jasmine tucked one arm behind her head again. “Well, I suppose I can think of worse lovers to have than one who spends that much time acquainted with one’s cunny.”

Belle paused, as if thinking, and then leant over and kissed Jasmine on the mouth. It was sudden and belated and needed all at once, and Jasmine melted into it, allowed Belle to explore her mouth and press her down into the couch. Belle’s hand stroked the inside of her thigh, and she was reminded of her own desire again, arching her back to press her breasts to Belle’s.

“So,” said Belle, breathlessly, “how does the tale end?”

“Well, let me simply say that indeed it is the most sensuous part of the story,” Jasmine said.

Belle raised an eyebrow. “The most sensuous? You set a high bar, when already there has been talk of pricks and cunnys.”

“Let me see,” Jasmine purred. “The version that I heard, how was it said… Ali Shar was delighted and embraced and kissed his Zumurrud found–” her words were cut off as Belle kissed her again, hot and intense and overwhelming, and she had to catch her breath again. “And cast himself upon her and sheathed his sword within her scabbard, made play at her door and again and again gave into her.”

Belle tilted her head, sending curls tumbling to one side. “Hmm. I don’t suppose you happen to have a prick handy for such an ending?”

“Alas, not to hand.

“Well, fortunately,” Belle leant in once more, but this kiss was only a ghost over Jasmine’s lips, close enough to feel the heat of her breath, “I know another way.”

Jasmine yelped as Belle rearranged them, twisting Jasmine’s leg aside and then twining them together. The next that she knew, Belle had all but alternated their legs, putting their hips together in such a way that they sex-to-sex, open and yearning against each other.

“Well,” said Jasmine, “if a sultan can rule without a prick, I see no reason why this part of the tale should need one.”

“Why indeed,” Belle said.

Once more she bent down, pressing Jasmine to the bed and kissing her voraciously. Her tongue was hot and sweet, one hand on Jasmine’s hip to guide them, but it was the roll of her hips that made Jasmine moan. The hot friction made her shiver, Belle’s weight just _right_ against her clit, wet and slick but with the curls of their hair making it just rough enough, just that burning friction that built and built within her.

“Oh – oh, _fuck_ ,” said Jasmine, all sense of even attempting to be Sultan Zumurrud evading her as Belle thrust her hips at just the right moment. Belle laughed, mouthing hot kisses to her neck, and Jasmine squirmed her hands between them again to take both of her breasts in hand. “Oh, you are the worst of visitors or the best, I cannot decide…”

Belle licked along Jasmine’s throat; it felt almost as if it tingled in the warm air. “It may not surprise you that it is not the first time I have been called that.”

Another roll of Belle’s hips, and Jasmine squeezed harder than she intended on Belle’s nipples. The moan on Belle’s lips stopped any apologies that Jasmine might have given, and instead she pinched again, to what must have been the point of pain.

“ _Ah_ ,” Belle sighed, mouth against Jasmine’s neck. She recovered herself, and nipped at Jasmine’s ear. “It seems you read me well.”

“I have been told that I am a fast learner,” replied Jasmine. She pinched again, until Belle shuddered, then pushed against the couch to roll them over once again. By Belle’s squeak and flailing hand, she might have feared that they would fall off, but Jasmine knew her chambers well and caught them just before the edge. She rearranged their legs as Belle had done, knowing she had the right position when their bodies fit together again, perhaps not as sword to scabbard but as building stone to building stone, made perfectly to match each other. She rolled her hips, testing, and felt the familiar rush of pleasure intensified by the sight of Belle spilled out beneath her. “What would you say?”

Belle gave her a wicked look. “I would say that I would need proof.”

For answer, Jasmine rocked her hips again, finding the position that made Belle gasp and shift, while also making pleasure coil in her own veins. It did not take her long to find the rhythm, seemingly building with the waves of heat within her, the quickening of her breath and the pounding of her heart in her ears. Belle cupped Jasmine’s hips to urge her on, and Jasmine felt the warmth spreading through her muscles, the almost-ache at the movement, but there was a rush and a thrill to that as well, that even the next day she would still feel this.

“And thus Ali Shar clasped Zumurrud to him,” said Jasmine breathlessly, feeling Belle squirm beneath her, “and kissed her and embraced her and threw himself upon her as the predator upon its prey.” Belle’s hands squeezed tighter, and Jasmine again stroked at Belle’s breast, pinching at her nipple until it stood hard against its pink surrounding. “And he sheathed his sword within her scabbard,” she rolled her hips in time with the rhythm of her words, “and ceased not to play porter at her door, and she clasping him to her as a button-loop clasps a button. And neither did she cease in her own movements, her wriggling and her rising up and her muscles milking each drop of him–” Belle gasped “–until the noise drew the attention of her servants.

“So they came and peeped forth behind the curtains, and saw the coupling of Ali Shar and Zumurrud and said, why! our sultan moves as a woman,” with the hitches of Belle’s breath, she knew the woman was drawing closer, cresting to her pleasure, “and cries out as a woman, but they cared not save for how she ruled, and concealed their affair. And so Ali Shar remained beside his lover, and she ruled on,” Jasmine bent down, fingers switching their attention to Belle’s other nipple, and rocked with all of her body against Belle’s sex. A wicked thought came to her, and she let her voice grow rough and without losing her sing-song tale-telling tone changed her words. “And never more needed she for the attentions of Ali Shar upon her cunny.”

Belle made a choked sound as she came, back arching and head throwing back, and Jasmine bowed her head to nip and suck at her neglected nipple. She felt the waves of pleasure crash down through Belle, in her rough breathing and in the flutters of her sex, and as they receded switched her mouth to gentler kisses across the centre of Belle’s chest.

Finally, Belle chuckled. “I am certain that is not the true end of the tale.”

Jasmine shrugged. “Who knows? These tales seemed to change with each telling.”

When Belle pushed up onto her elbows, Jasmine allowed herself to be rolled onto her back, though her body was still wound so tense that she almost ached for Belle’s touch. Belle kissed her mouth, not hard enough for her preference but still true and searching, and slipped a hand down between her thighs. A moan left Jasmine’s lips as Belle’s fingers brushed over her sensitive skin.

“That they do,” said Belle. “But some things do not change unless we change them. And I think,” she nipped, just once, at Jasmine’s lower lip, “that I would be sure of another way to recognise you.”

Her mouth drifted down, planting stray kisses on her chest and stomach, and as Jasmine realised what she meant she could not help but laugh even as she felt fresh heat coil between her legs. The laugh became a soft cry as Belle’s mouth found its target, and without thinking Jasmine tried to push her hips upwards to meet Belle’s tongue. Chuckling, Belle pushed her hips back down again and set her mouth back to its work, not bothering to tease or toy as her fingers had done but stroking firmly along her. Jasmine could feel how wet she was, feel it on Belle’s skin and in the easy movement of Belle’s tongue, her body almost aching with desire.

Belle’s mouth found her clit, and Jasmine grasped at her hair, not hard but seeking, trailing through the soft strands. She braced her feet against the bed, and Belle alternately sucked and laved with her tongue, a soft moan turning to a burring that made Jasmine bite her lip to not cry out. Belle murmured something, words so soft that Jasmine could not even catch them, but then the movement of her tongue on Jasmine’s clit quickened, grew taut, and with a cry Jasmine came. It coiled tight inside her, then rushed out like a breaking dam, flowing down each inch of her body in shivering waves that left her soft and warm in Belle’s arms.

“Mmm,” Jasmine murmured, removing her hand from Belle’s hair. Belle rose to her hands and knees, smiling, lips and chin glossy. “For one unfamiliar, you certainly did not show it.”

“And you are an even quicker learner than you might have warned me of,” said Belle.

Jasmine laughed. “A body is a body. And you managed good guidance for not saying a word.”

“Given that I rely on communication for a living, I am glad to hear it.” Belle crawled up along her body, then lay beside her, propped on one elbow that they could still look upon each other’s faces. She let one hand rest, almost protectively, across Jasmine’s stomach. “And glad to hear this story of yours, as well, no matter the circumstances.” Her lips quirked. “And even if I imagine there _have_ been some embellishments. Have you more stories? Of this sort or otherwise?”

“Not tonight,” Jasmine said, unable to help teasing.

This time, it was Belle who chuckled. “Well, that I am not offended by. But…” her finger trailed over Jasmine’s skin, and left goosebumps in its wake. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Now that…” Jasmine ran her finger along Belle’s shining lips. “That, I think I could be held to.”


End file.
